


Drink Your Woes Away With Me

by Copper_Nails (Her_Madjesty)



Series: Finding Myself (And Maybe You) [5]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: After The Destruction of Jedha City, Canon Compliant, Cassian Drinks To Deal With His Feelings, Drinking, Drinking Games, Drunken Shenanigans, F/M, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Masturbation, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 02:04:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8949439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Her_Madjesty/pseuds/Copper_Nails
Summary: Cassian’s feet trip after her as she steps further into the room, but he stops himself, a hand catching on the doorframe. He forces himself back into the hall, trying to slow his heartbeat, all while keeping his face steady and calm.
“Call me Cassian,” he says. He searches for Jyn’s eyes in the dark and finds them shining.





	

**Author's Note:**

> *jazz hands* ~I can't stop writing for these ridiculous space children~
> 
> Thank you so much for all of the kind comments on the other pieces in this series. I'm not really sure where this is going to go, but I've kept coming back to it. Gotta work out my feelings about these nerds somehow, I guess. Hope you enjoy! XOXO

The cantina on Yavin IV doesn’t have an official name because it’s not officially supposed to exist. Mon Mothma and her board of politicians let their eyes slide over the wooded alcove that the rebels have cut out for themselves, studiously ignoring how, after a long day of fighting, soldiers, pilots, and spies slip out of the barracks and into a patch of forest that’s been cleared away.

Cassian has been in a number of cantinas throughout his life. He eyes the makeshift still in the center of the clearing, then glances upward towards the darkening sky. The glass in his hand was swiped from the mess several weeks ago; he keeps it in his room along with his crumbling plant and fishes it out when his hands start to shake so badly that he can’t control them.

The alcohol burns whenever he takes a sip, worse than anything he’s ever had before. Cassian drinks it, anyway, and revels in the slight buzzing that starts to take in the back of his head.

Every inch of him, every atom of his being, had shook when Jedha City had gone up. The buzz then wasn’t so pleasant; it threatened to rip through him, leave his skin wiped clean in bright, burning light.

Cassian knocks back the rest of his glass and shakes his head. When he stands, he stumbles, but he still makes it to the still to swipe another drink.

The twi’lek manning their makeshift bar raises a pink eyebrow as he stoops to the ground. “How much have you had?” she asks, her voice creaking with age.

“Not enough,” Cassian rasps. He can still taste the dust that’s wormed its way between his teeth.

The twi’lek stares at him for a long moment, then nods in understanding. She pours him another glass and shoos him away. He can feel her eyes burning into the back of his neck as he goes, but he doesn’t turn to call her on it.

He takes his seat on the decapitated stump-turned-bench in the same moment noise bursts to life behind him. He flinches, hand twitching down for his blaster; across the alcove, the twi’lek and several officers do the same.

The group that stumbles into the cantina isn’t made up of enemy ‘troopers. A walking stick whacks against a nearby tree; Cassian forces his muscles to relax as Chirrut Îmwe comes into view.

“Baze?” the guardian calls, letting his stick move out in front of him. “I think you’ll like what I’ve found.”

The twi’lek lets out a gentle laugh. Cassian turns back to see her standing, watching the old guardian with a wary, if fond, eye. She turns more sharply when Baze Malbus comes stumbling into view, swearing at a vine that’s wrapped around his ankle.

Chirrut shakes his head, then shifts. He continues forward until he’s a foot from Cassian’s side, his head tilted as though he’s sniffing the air.

“Captain Andor,” he says, his mouth softening with a smile. “You’ve chosen to imbibe, as well.”

Cassian goes to salute him with his glass, then reconsiders. “I wouldn’t have picked you for the type to join me.”

“That’s because I’m not,” Chirrut says. A corner of his mouth quirks upward as Baze’s swears grow louder. Cassian looks around him and sees several of the rebel patrons staring, their eyes slowly growing wider.

“Out of my way,” the bounty hunter grumbles. He lumbers forward, Wookie-like, until he’s standing in front of the still. The twi’lek, having risen, stands patiently before him. Her pink eyebrows have risen higher on her head, but there is no sign of fear on her face.

Baze looks over to Chirrut, then back to the twi’lek.

Chirrut, with no need to return the gaze, still shakes his head. “Might I sit?” he asks, indicate the space at Cassian’s side.

Cassian nods, then chides himself. “I won’t stop you,” he says, moving over on his bench.

Chirrut reaches out, smile ever-present, and leans until his hand comes into contact with the wood. When he sits, he lets out a sigh, twisting until his back cracks in several places.

Cassian stares, all the while taking another long sip from his glass.

“You’re tense, Captain,” Chirrut says, crossing his hands over his staff. “By my understanding, alcohol is supposed to relax you.”

“I’ve not had so much,” Cassian mutters. He squints towards the bottom of his glass, then looks back over to the still. Baze has produced a flask; he and the twi’lek are speaking quietly to one another, enough so that Cassian can’t make out the words.

Chirrut’s smile shifts, for a moment, into a smirk. He reaches out and pats Cassian’s knee, all the while keeping his gaze locked forward. “Drinking with friends is more amiable than drinking alone,” he says. “If you want for company, Baze and I will be more than happy to offend your sensibilities for a while.”

Cassian almost chuckles. The huff that escapes him seems amused enough for Chirrut; the guardian waves to Baze, who, flask full, comes wandering over.

He takes the seat on Cassian’s other side without so much as a word. Cassian watches him out of the corner of his eye as Baze takes a swig from his flask. The man smacks his lips and wipes a stream of booze away from his mouth, then fixes Cassian with a firm stare.

“So this is what the Rebellion does for fun.” he says.

“I’m not sure ‘fun’ is the proper word,” Chirrut says, before Cassian can speak. “I can smell your drink from here, Baze; it should be more than enough to take your edge off.”

“I’d need to whole tub to take my edge off,” Baze grumbles. Cassian watches him take another swig and catches him wince. He turns back to his own drink and takes a measured sip.

He watches as rebels drift to and from the still, all of them retreating into the growing shadows of Yavin IV’s forest. The twi’lek begins to hum as the first stars appear in the sky, lifting her head upward with a small smile. Cassian sees more than a few of the newer recruits throw nervous glances her way. The same anxious gazes pass over him, lingering on Baze more than the captain with the blood-splattered coat.

He’s not sure which one of them brings out a seven string hallikset. Cassian jumps as the gentle twang fills the alcove, his hand tightening on his now-empty glass.

The recruit, still wearing a pilot’s flight uniform, offers him an apologetic smile. She strums another chord, then frowns and moves to fix her tuning.

The music that plays off of her fingers relaxes him more than the alcohol does. Cassian leans back on his bench and looks up towards the sky as the chords stretch into a song he doesn’t know. Beside him, Chirrut begins to tap out a pattern against the bench’s wood. Baze glares at him for a long moment, then at the recruit across the canteen. Her apologetic smile turns coy with laughter as the recruits around her begin to sing.

It takes two bars, maybe less, for Chirrut to sit upright. “I know this song,” he says, though more to Baze than to Cassian. His voice doesn’t carry the same softness as the recruits’ when he starts to sing; he is unapologetic in his noise. Cassian exchanges a quick glance with Baze and finds the bounty hunter shaking his head.

“This happens,” he murmurs, though even Cassian knows that Chirrut can still hear them. “It’s why he comes with me when I go to drink; he may not imbibe, but he loves the contact high.”

Cassian glances back at the singing guardian and sees the corner of his mouth quirk upward with a sly smile.

They’ve made it through the chorus more times than Cassian can count by the time another group of newcomers stumbles into the cantina. He looks up from where he’s cradling his head in his hands and watches the group with a wary eye. It’s not a large one – there are two, maybe three darkly-clothed rebels inching their way towards the still, but the shadows of the forest make it hard to discern their faces. Only when the twi’lek calls out to greet them, her voice gently trilling, does Cassian work out their looming sense of familiarity.

Bodhi Rook lingers at Jyn Erso’s side, trying his best to make himself small. Jyn, on the other hand, weaves through the people gathered in the cantina with her chin held high. She stops in front of the twi’lek, and the two exchange words before the twi’lek hands over the largest glass Cassian has ever seen in her collection.

“Anri’soyacho,” he hears Jyn reply. It feels, for a moment, as if the words smack him in the face; he sees the twi’lek smile and bare her teeth, can almost taste the delight dancing off of her.

Jyn smiles at her, too, small and gentle. She takes her full glass and sends a glance around the cantina. Her gaze stops on him, for a moment, as she takes in the singing Chirrut, the grumbling Baze, and –

Well, whatever he is to her.

She turns away from them, after a moment, to look back after Bodhi. The pilot lingers, having separated himself from the other rebels, and jumps when she motions him forward. She stays by his side while the twi’lek readies his drink, scanning the area with a paranoia Cassian knows well.

It still surprises him when she guides Bodhi in his direction. He blinks, schooling face into something impassivity while his pulse flutters in his throat. Chirrut stops singing for less than a moment and turns, listening. He turns his body so he’s facing Jyn, but Cassian sees his fingers twitch in time with Cassian’s own heartbeat.

“Little sister,” Chirrut says as Jyn hesitates before them. “I thought that you’d be sleeping.”

Jyn flinches at the sudden onslaught of attention Chirrut’s words bring her; Baze’s gaze weighs heavily on her shoulders, and Bodhi scurries to place himself behind her. Cassian continues to stare at his glass.

“I wanted to clear my head,” Jyn says, at last. She has to work to keep her voice steady; Cassian glances up and finds that her hands are shaking.

(He wonders if she still feels Jedha falling around her. He wonders if she feels Saw – no, no. None of that.)

“Then sit, sit,” Chirrut says, motioning towards the space on the bench next to him. “Clear your head with us. Baze and I have resolved to bother the captain,” he adds, in a low, mock whisper. “Perhaps you’d like to assist us?”

He doesn’t know if Jyn smirks at that, or if her hands tremble a little less with Chirrut’s humor. He does know that Jyn falls into the seat beside the guardian and that Bodhi is quick to fall with her.

“Pilot,” Baze barks, loud in Cassian’s ear. “Come over here.”

Cassian grimaces as some of the booze in Baze’s flask flies out and onto the knee of his trousers. He turns to see Bodhi staring wide eyed at the bounty hunter, his hands wrapped around each other as he clutches his glass.

“Come on,” Baze says, motioning towards him again. “I want to know if your Imperial card games are better than the ones in the Holy City or not.”

Bodhi doesn’t so much relax as he does deflate. Cassian watches him shoot a nervous glance towards Jyn, but she’s been swept into quiet conversation with Chirrut and doesn’t appear to notice. Cassian sees her reach out and gently touch the pilot’s hand, however, as he rises from his seat. Bodhi seems to steel himself with this, then goes and plops down at Baze’s side.

If he takes a particularly long swig from his glass before he begins talking, Cassian is not one to judge him.

He rises from his seat as the chatter around him continues, moving back to the still and the twi’lek, still seated at its side.

“We’re going to need to call in a second provider,” she tells him as she refills his glass again. “I’ll be out soon enough, if your friends have their way.”

“There’s not my friends,” Cassian mutters, watching as the alcohol spills into his glass. When he looks up, it’s to see one of the twi’lek’s eyebrows twitching higher. She glances behind him, and doubt flashes over her face.

“No, you’re right,” she says, turning off the tap. “You need your robot companion if you want all of your friends to be here. Bring him, next time. At least he won’t drink me dry.”

Despite himself, Cassian snorts. He offers the twi’lek a respectful nod as he rises. Chirrut, still deep in conversation with Jyn, turns his head towards the still, tilting it as Cassian considers returning.

“Baze,” he calls, voice ringing through the clearing.

Baze looks up from his conversation with Bodhi. A deck of cards has appeared in his hands and is spread out on the space between him and the pilot. “Whadda ya want?”

“This game you’re playing,” Chirrut says. “Doesn’t it require the loser of a hand to drink in order to mask their shame?”

Baze and Jyn both snort, though Jyn covers her mouth when she does.

“That’s one version of it, yes,” Baze says, nodding. He turns back and considers Bodhi, for a moment, then looks out across the alcove to Cassian. “Come on, Captain,” he says. “What say you and I take the pilot for a little ride?”

The huff of laughter that escapes him is unexpected, unwilling. Cassian schools himself and glances down at his glass, then back to Baze and Bodhi.

“What did I tell you?” he hears the twi’lek murmur from behind him. “I’ll be out of alcohol before we’ve even made a trip around the sun.”

It is this, Cassian tells himself, that sends him back towards the bench and the card game.

He doesn’t know when the second still arrives; the rules of a game Baze calls Bukas Uru take up the bulk of his attention. He drinks more than he should in the first few rounds; Baze laughs at both him and Bodhi as his hands trounce theirs time and time again. Cassian feels the moment Jyn shifts her gaze and lets it linger on his neck. Chirrut lets out an exasperated sigh as Baze sweeps another round, and she giggles, soft as a whisper bird.

Cassian’s head nearly whips around at the sound; for a stark, strung out moment, he wants to chase it, wants to see the smile that plays at the corners of her mouth. He’s not that far gone, though, so even as the muscles of his back go tense with the urge, he breathes, doing his best to keep himself under control.

He wins the next hand, though he’s not sure how. Baze swears up a blue streak, but reaches for his flask, anyway. Bodhi tips back his head as he finishes off his glass, then looks past Cassian to Jyn.

She slips from the bench and brushes past Cassian on her way to Bodhi, plucking the pilot’s glass away to go a get him a refill. The brush of her arm is warm, and Cassian feels the shockwaves of it fan out across his skin. His breath catches in his throat, and he has to work in order to draw cards for the next round of the game.

Jyn returns with her own glass full, as well as one for Bodhi. She doesn’t return to Chirrut’s side; instead, she plops down in the dirt just in front of the bench and cradles her glass, watching the newest round play out.

“You want in, little sister?” Baze asks as he sweeps the game.

Cassian glances over and sees a shine to Jyn’s eyes, refraction from the dim light of the night sky. She nods and reaches out to take a handful of cards.

Cassian hears Chirrut chuckle, though he can’t imagine why.

Then Jyn takes the round. And the next one. And the next one. Baze’s good natured teasing gradually becomes more and more competitive; he’s wobbling in his seat when he wins the next round. His victory crow shakes the cantina, drowning out the sounds of the hallikset, still playing across the way. Some of the rebels take up the cry with him, confused but delighted.

Cassian shakes his head and pushes his hair out of his eyes. The cards are swimming in front of his face, but he doesn’t care. His muscles are loose, his tongue feels thick, and he’s smiling for the first time since the morning light had woken him up.

He takes the next round, and both Jyn and Baze groan. Bodhi, hands no longer shaking, goes to finish off the last of his drink but misses his mouth and ends up swearing in a language Cassian doesn’t know. Jyn smacks his thigh, though, and Baze scoffs – even Chirrut lets out a startled guffaw.

“Get out of the game, pilot,” Baze says, reaching up to ruffle the man’s hair. “You won’t remember any of your losses, at this rate.”

“All the more reason to keep playing,” Bodhi slurs. He tips a little and ends up leaning against Jyn, who rises in order to keep him in his seat. The stab of amusement that fills Cassian’s heart takes a hotter turn; it burns against his tongue, sharp, and stifles his almost-laughter.

Chirrut, still behind him, chuckles again. Cassian doesn’t flinch when the guardian touches his shoulder; he looks back, wobbling, and sees Chirrut smiling.

“Easy, Captain,” Chirrut says, giving his shoulder a squeeze.

Even though he knows the guardian can’t see it, Cassian hesitates, then offers a tentative smile back.

It takes two more rounds for Bodhi to fall to the ground, too uncoordinated to remain in his seat. Jyn does her best to catch him, but he’s heavy with booze, and the two of them tumble into the dirt. Cassian, unsteady himself, reaches out to haul her up, leaving Baze to wrestle Bodhi back to his feet.

Across the cantina, the twi’lek announces that her still is empty. A course of groans echoes through the forest, loud enough to make Bodhi reach up and cover his ears.

“That’s fine,” Baze says, offering up a shrug. He gathers his cards and tucks them away, then waits for Chirrut to rise. “It’s back to the barracks, I suppose.”

“Perhaps one of you should escort Mr. Rook back to his quarters,” Chirrut says. His ever-present smile grows softer as Baze comes to his side. Cassian watches them for a moment, head tilting to the side; only Baze’s raised eyebrow makes him look away.

When he turns, it’s to see Jyn looping Bodhi’s arm over her shoulders.

“Captain,” she says, stumbling beneath the pilot’s weight. “Would you mind giving me a hand?”

Cassian blinks, then immediately moves to assist. He braces Bodhi up on the other side, though the uneven height between himself and Jyn leaves the pilot tripping as they move forward together. Cassian hears Chirrut call out a goodnight, and he thinks he responds, but the words that leave his mouth don’t seem to make much sense. Jyn calls out a reply, as well, that sounds much clearer than he expects.

“That was good,” Bodhi slurs, dragging his feet behind him. “That was – that was really good.”

“Glad you had fun,” Cassian hears Jyn say. He glances at her and sees her tuck away a smile, though she shares it, for a moment, with him. Cassian’s lips twitch upward, but he’s quick to look away. He tightens his grip on Bodhi’s back, careful to watch the man’s feet as they continue forward.

Maybe his hand brushes against Jyn’s where they meet in the middle of Bodhi’s back. Maybe it lingers, taking in the heat and the callouses and the feel of her. Maybe she doesn’t pull away. Maybe she shoots him a glance as Bodhi starts to sing, full of amusement and confusion and warmth. Maybe it sparks something terrible in Cassian’s belly.

They drop Bodhi off into his temporary bunk, careful to lay him down on his side with a trashcan nearby. Cassian lets Jyn walk out of the room in front of him; his hands hover at her side as she stumbles, but she catches herself and carries on forward.

The door to Bodhi’s bunk slips shut with a hiss. The two of them stand in the hall, swaying on their feet and blinking against the stuttering florescent lights.

“You should sleep,” Cassian says, though his tongue bungles the words. They’ve given her a bunk of her own, now, the room of a dead man lost on a mission away; he’s not sure if he likes the arrangement, but he knows better than to complain.

Jyn looks at him with an arched eyebrow and a smile too loose for waking hours. “So should you,” she says, and her accent bleeds all over the sentence, leaving it crisp in Cassian’s ears.

They hesitate, then walk down the hall of the barracks together. Cassian keeps himself an inch or two from Jyn’s side and traces the patterns of dust and dirt that cover the back of her neck. If she feels him staring, she doesn’t make him stop; as they round a corner, she shoots him a glance, but doesn’t let her gaze linger.

The heat in Cassian’s belly sputters. The urge to reach out and take her hand in his is great; it’s to comfort her, he tells himself, after the length and trials of the day. Not that she needs his comfort. She sways as she walks, her arm occasionally brushing up against his, but she remains steady, with her head held high.

The heat in his belly is dwarfed, for a moment, by a lightning bolt of pride that shoots through Cassian’s chest.

He nearly runs into her when Jyn stops in front of her bunk door. She radiates warmth, and he wants to linger, but he forces himself backward, trying to mask his intake of breath as he goes.

Judging by the confusion dancing across Jyn’s face, he fails. A flush threatens to overtake the tips of his ears, but he fights it back. He looks down to the floor, instead, studying the cracks in the tile while he waits for her to say goodnight.

“I had fun,” he hears her say, instead.

He glances upward and sees another one of her slightly lopsided smiles. It burns him, and he finds himself smiling back. “Where’d you learn to count cards?” he asks. His voice comes out like a croak and he winces, bring a hand up to poke at his throat. He hears Jyn stifle a laugh and wonders, idly, how he can make her laugh again.

“You pick up a lot in Imperial prisons,” she says, taking a step over her threshold. “Not all of it is bad.”

Cassian hums and lets his hand drop to his side. Jyn stares at him for a heartbeat, then for another. The door to her room doesn’t hiss shut, but the air seems to hum.

“Goodnight, Captain,” she says, at last.

Cassian’s feet trip after her as she steps further into the room, but he stops himself, a hand catching on the doorframe. He forces himself back into the hall, trying to slow his heartbeat, all while keeping his face steady and calm.

“Call me Cassian,” he says. He searches for Jyn’s eyes in the dark and finds them shining.

“Cassian,” she says, the syllables rolling off her tongue. Cassian sighs and feels his cock give a twitch in his pants. “Cassian,” she says again. He wonders, for a fleeting moment, what his name tastes like in her mouth.

“Okay,” she says, after a moment longer. “Goodnight, Cassian.”

“Goodnight, Jyn.”

The effort it takes to pull himself away from her doorway is monumental, but he manages, if only just. He watches as the door slides shut, eyes lingering even after its hidden Jyn from his sight.

He doesn’t know how long he stands outside her door. Eventually, he sighs and shoves his hands into his jacket pockets.

The walk back to his own bunk, just down the hall, takes a century, an eon, a lifetime. Cassian stumbles through the door and into the darkness, collapsing onto his bed with a soft huff. He rolls onto his back and counts the stars that appear like sparks on his ceiling.

He drags a hand over his face as the warmth in his belly unfurls. It aches all over, burrowing deep inside his chest to a place he doesn’t want to name, can’t afford to name.

Jyn Erso has proved annoyingly human. It would take a stronger man than him to resist the urge to weave a hand through her hair and drag her to him. He wants to chase the alcohol and dust from her lips, wants to shield her from the world at large – ridiculous, really, but he can _taste_ her, feel her warmth sparking across his skin, and he aches. Oh, does he ache.

His cock twitches again; Cassian swears and brings a hand down to rest on his on the bulge forming in his pants. Guilt wells up beside the warmth in his chest; this is something he knows he shouldn’t do. His hips buck into his touch without his consent, however, and he can’t help it.

He strokes his cock through his pants and thinks of Jyn’s warm eyes, Jyn’s laughing mouth, Jyn’s softest smile.

It aches. It aches. It aches.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you thought!


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